Page 98 of Boleyn Traitor
‘Who’s been talking to you?’ I demand.
She owns up at once. ‘Mary Howard,’ she says. ‘She says that Thomas Wyatt is a great poet and no traitor.’
‘That may well be true,’ I say. I wave to a couple of children leaning over the prow in an overloaded boat. ‘So Mary Howard can ask for mercy, if she cares so much for him?’
‘He wrote a beautiful poem about Anne Boleyn,’ Kitty remarks, as if at random. ‘He praised her for her beauty,’
‘Yes, I know.’ I think Mary Howard understands very well how to inspire Katheryn’s vanity in one clever courtier’s word.
‘Mary Howard says that queens ask for mercy, and they let their hair down and kneel before the king, and it’s a very pretty sight. People remember it and are grateful forever. If I did it now, then everyone in the river pageant would see that I’m a good queen.’
‘Once,’ I say dampeningly. ‘Katherine of Aragon asked for mercy once for the apprentice boys, and it was all agreed beforehand: planned and designed and – yes – it was very pretty. But Jane Seymour asked for mercy for the pilgrims, the northern rebels, and the king left her kneeling on the floor with her hair down and only me to help her up. Can you imagine how foolish she looked?’
Kitty looks shocked at the prospect. ‘Oh, I’d have to know he wanted to. He must want to pardon before I ask.’
‘Then you’re not begging for a man’s life but putting on a masque,’ I point out.
‘Yes,’ she says cheerfully. ‘That’s what I meant. Just like a masque. And me asMercy. Can we do it now?’
‘Now?’ I glance over to the king’s side of the barge. He is drinking wine and eating pastries, waving at the procession of ships that have come to celebrate the new queen.
‘Now, where everyone can see me.’
‘I’ll ask if he wants to,’ I say and beckon to Thomas Culpeper.
He comes at once, bows politely, and listens to my whispered question.
‘Oh certainly,’ he says. ‘His Majesty thought fondly of Wyatt while we were overnight in the Tower. Asked if he had a good room and good cheer.’
I will not think about the king asking if a traitor has good cheer. I will not think about the monks who starved to death in their chains in these very rooms. ‘Would His Majesty welcome a plea for mercy from the queen?’ I ask.
‘I’ll make sure,’ he smiles to himself. ‘No man in the world could refuse her...’
I watch him cross the deck to the king, lean and whisper in his ear. The king’s cheeks are swollen with food; he takes a gulp of wine before he answers. But then I see him beam, and he calls the bargemaster to halt, and the drum stops, and the rowers feather their oars to keep us steady in the water.
‘Do it now,’ I say to her.
‘Now?’ She is delighted. ‘Right now? Can I?’
‘You’re very eager to get him pardoned.’
‘No,’ she says honestly. ‘Just so that everyone sees me being a queen.’
Carefully, I untie the cape she has over her shoulders, take off her cap, take the priceless ivory pins out of her hair. The bronze mass of hair tumbles down over her shoulders, and I stroke it out.
‘What do I do?’
‘Just walk towards him, go down on your knees and put your hands together like you were praying and look up at him,’ I say. ‘If you can cry, that’s good, too. But nothing to spoil your looks. Just a tear.’
‘I don’t say anything?’ she demands.
‘You say: “I cry mercy, mercy for Thomas Wyatt.” ’
She rises from her throne and throws a quick nervous look over at Henry. He is looking out at the river, waving at some people who are cheering from a fishing smack.
‘What about his friend John Wallop?’ I ask. ‘And Lady Margaret Pole? She’s still in the Tower, the king’s own cousin. You could ask pardon for them, too? You should ask pardon for her first?’
‘Oh no,’ she says quickly. ‘I can’t go on and on. You know, I can’t be boring. Besides, the people won’t hear what I’m saying. It’s just for show.’
